


Morning Sun

by Emma_Dreamcore



Series: Celestial Bodies [1]
Category: Half-Life
Genre: Feelings, First Aid, First Kiss, G-man is a softie, Gordon is underslept and has loose grip on sanity, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, Medical Procedures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:34:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21534553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emma_Dreamcore/pseuds/Emma_Dreamcore
Summary: Gordon is underslept and wounded. He makes leap of faith to catch up with his mysterious employer, who is not as cold as he looks.Работа так же была переведена на русский - https://ficbook.net/readfic/9021747
Relationships: The G-Man/Gordon Freeman
Series: Celestial Bodies [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1761685
Comments: 3
Kudos: 125





	Morning Sun

**Author's Note:**

> G-man is out of universe name, so Gordon calls him "Stranger" in his head. Have a nice read!

He escaped the Ravenholm. He escaped the starless night. He fell. Leapt neatly from ledge to ledge. He climbed and ran and clawed his way. He sliced it with saws, he crushed it with his crowbar, torn with bullets. His armored suit injected him with morphine occasionally, to ease the pain from all the wounds he got. He would be scared of becoming an addict but he thinks he lost the ability to be scared and being addicted to anything. Well. Almost anything. 

Light of amber flames lit his path in the dark. His own soul lit with hope. He wasn’t religious, being a man of science, but he understood father Grigori on some fundamental level. He didn’t believe in God, but he bowed to a force much greater than him. Science. And… a person. Gordon was looking for his own salvation. Grigori’s sermons filled him with hellbent desire to go forward in the dark, to light. To see him again. 

His body creaked under the strain. It didn’t matter. As long as he got armored plated metal holding him together, morphine to numb the pain, it was going to be okay. He saw this man in the distance countless times before. He would be ready for the next one. He would do something. He needed to do something.

He held his breath. Water was cold, stale. Almost as it was trying to sap his life force out of him. He left it with a sigh of relief, another breath of air. It was going to be fine. 

He saw bright white light in the distance. He wasn’t dead, was he? No. Giant rig of a trap blocked him from his hope, his salvation. He threw his weight on the lever and it budges. He would have to fasten his pace. He timed a moment and ran upwards along the minecart tracks with all his strength. A cover? He ducks while trap flungs by over his head, destroying unfortunate humans grafted together with headcrabs. Huh, zombies, they call them. Don’t you need a virus to turn into one? He wouldn't know, especially now, that all movies and books about them were either destroyed, or lost. He was okay with calling them “zombies” for now. 

He fell on his knees when the uphill evened, and all the “zombies” were dispatched. He was heaving his lungs out, eyes shut. He steadied himself and his breath. He opened his eyes. Pink-orange light of sunrise fell on his face, radiating through his eyes, impacting with his retina. It almost went through him. He enjoyed his moment of peace. He looked at clouds, which were all sorts of pretty colors. Golden at the rim. Like lasers in his lab. Not as deadly though. 

He was awake for whole night, wasn’t he? That was no good at all. His aim might suffer.

He went along the tracks. He didn’t like it, he felt trapped. His sharpened sense didn’t lie. Route was watched by two snipers. He didn’t want to hurt people. Never. It hurts every time. But… No choice. Panic was choking his throat. Grenades kill fast. Almost no pain at all. 

He was crawling like rat in the maze, dispatching monsters and people. Sudden open space spooked him, and he rushed to train tunnel in front of him. It wasn’t the right way.  
He fell near the crack between old train car and the wall. He was sure he was dying.  
So hopeless. He didn’t even…

Gordon’s head bobbed to the side and he saw him. The man in the suit. The Stranger. He was walking casually along the tracks. He was so close! 

Gordon willed his body to do one last push. He deserved someone on his deathbed. Gordon’s body squeezed forcefully through the creak. One last rush. Gordon’s legs carry him few quick steps. His fingers lock on the stranger’s sleeve. Yes. Yes. 

He’s real, and he’s there and he’s gonna watch Gordon die. Gordon’s so sorry. 

Stranger stops on his tracks and turns his head to Gordon. The light of morning sun makes him look so beautiful, sunrays glistening, getting stuck in his ‘’graying’’ hair. Getting refracted in his green irises, flashing his face, making his pale, clammy skin look almost peachy, almost human. 

Stranger was no human at all, Gordon could tell… But it didn’t matter. But it mattered a universe.

There was… an expression on stranger’s face? Gordon never saw one there. It looked like... A surprise? Stranger wasn’t expecting him. He surprised a God and now he is going to die. 

Stranger looked at Gordon with almost respect, and turned to him fully. He was going to talk. Gordon better pay attention and try to hear him with his gunshot deafened ears. Though, stranger was almost certain telepathic, Gordon thought. Would get through to him even deaf. 

-Well greetings, Mr.Freeman. You managed to catch up to me on just your legs. Impressive, that. 

Stranger makes this odd inhale, as if he doesn't quite know how to time his breathing right.  
Gordon thinks he hardly did anything impressive but if stranger says so, he'll accept it.

-I would imagine you have a lot of questions to me… I regretfully inform you that im not authorized to give you any answers, not yet. 

Stranger inhales to say something else but Gordon shakes his head in denial. He didn't want any answers from this man. Gordon is a scientist, he can make his own. He grips tighter on stranger's sleeve.

Stranger opens his eyes wide in surprise. 

-You didn't seek me out to get answers? Why have you come then? 

Gordon didn't seek the stranger out. He just stumbled upon him by luck. He didn't want to die alone. 

Gordon makes an effort and puts his other hand on stranger's shoulder, practically holding him. He looks directly in strangers eyes. He really hopes this time the stranger can read his thoughts. Gordon wanted to talk, but his lungs were not up to the task. 

_Please._  
_I'm dying. I wanted to see you before it's my time. You are the first person important to me in ages. You draw me after you. I'm sorry i won't be able to finish that job for you, whatever it was._

The stranger slowly lifted his own hands, grabbing him by his shoulders, holding Gordon up, and looking over him from top to bottom, attentively. Noting every wound and laceration he couldn't possibly see under all this plated metal? What was he doing?  
Stranger looked straight at Gordon's eyes again. 

-You came all this way… just for me? 

It seems he didn't expect that at all. How odd. This godlike force of nature didn't expect this. Gordon smiles, looking at those green eyes. And nods. 

Stranger looks to the side, contemplative. After some time he looks back to Gordon.

-You aren't dying, you know. It's way too early for your paycheck to come, but… I suppose my employers wouldn't mind if i gave you some compensation for your efforts. You did quite well so far, yes, quite well. 

Gordon feels warm in his soul on these words. It feels good, like morphine flowing through his system.

Stranger takes Gordon's hand and carefully unclips his glove from the rest of his suit, taking it off.  
Gordon feels surprisingly warm hands of his mysterious employer on his naked hand. The stranger leads it to his own face and Gordon readily accepts, brushing stranger's face with his fingers. Skin wasn't cold at all. Lukewarm, like water in sunny day. Stranger was certainly not human, but definitely alive. 

Gordon could work with alive. 

Stranger stepped away causing short jolt of panic in Gordon's heart. Is he going to disappear again? 

Oh. He takes Gordon's hand. He is going to lead him somewhere. 

-Follow me, Mr.Freeman.

Gordon would love to, but his legs are giving up on him. He is sure he is being held together by his suit right now, otherwise he would just fold like a card house. 

Stranger notices, and accommodates accordingly, supporting Gordon's back, while still holding his hand. 

-Do keep up… He says.  
They go slowly across the rail tracks. Gordon feels wonderful, if pain-stricken. And then everything goes green.

Images of familiar and alien places flash in Gordon's mind in quick succession. A bit differently than last few times. A bit more careful, caring. He still feels lukewarm hand in his weak but desperate grip. 

And then it stops. The feeling Gordon only notices once it's gone. Like his bones were vibrating with the frequency of universe spinning. He looks around. 

They are still on Earth, he can say that much. Same pink-golden sunlight bursting through the window on the wall.  
He is still held by firm grip of lukewarm hands. they are standing in some sort of hospital room. There was a lot of this weird tech Gordon saw in the city. Same time, then. 

Stranger started to walk him to the examination table near the window, carefully supporting his back. Gordon's mind is searing with panic. What if someone walks in?! This facility clearly doesn't belong to the rebels! He turned his head to the man in the suit, trying, pushing his lungs very hard to say something but- 

-You are safe with me. 

Stranger nonchalantly says and helps Gordon onto the table. The H.E.V. suit clinks against metal surface. Now when his body feels out of fire and danger pain suddenly floods him. Everything was damaged in some way. Gordon looked at the window, spacing out, while stranger was tinkering with some medical equipment. 

Huh? he could've sworn…  
Yeah there it is. Sun moves for a bit and goes back to its former placement. So that's how he can make sure nobody walks in. Magnificent. If only he could study this phenomenon… But even observing it was mesmerising. 

Gordon's reverie was interrupted by stranger, framing his face with lukewarm fingers and gently turning it towards him. He looks attentively in Gordon's eyes. Right. He should pay attention. Not the time to admire his eyes.

-I am going to temporarily relieve you of your suit - stranger says with a sharp inhale.  
I hope you won't mind if i do? 

He's asking for permission? That's new. But Gordon trusts this man, even though it might not be the smartest move. But his gut feeling has never failed him before. So. 

He nods, looking right in stranger's eyes.  
Stranger nods in return, and starts unclipping the suit's clasps and locks. One by one. Gordon tries very hard to not space out looking at these thin hands doing repetitive motions. Stranger goes down to his knees working on suit's leggings, and for him it seems to be not unusual at all. Gordon hopes that _right now_ stranger doesn't read his thoughts. 

Armor plates are unplugged and stranger steps up, puts them away in neat stack on the table.  
Gordon tries to help stranger in relieving him of the suit itself, but he gently taps away Gordon's aching arm. 

-No need to strain yourself, Mr.Freeman, you already proven yourself very capable indeed. 

Well, alright. If this really is okay. 

Gordon relaxes as much as he can and observes how stranger tugs and removes the cuirass, putting it on the table near armor plates, then the leggings. For boots he goes on the knees again. So he didn't read Gordon's thoughts. Or he did and he _doesn't really mind._

Gordon sat on the cold metal table, warm golden sunlight falling on his wounded skin. His state must be awful, judging by the look on stranger's face. He had that expression that if Gordon had to guess meant regret. 

And his state was, indeed awful. Stranger saw copious amounts of bruises, lacerations, cuts and in some places where suit was a bit thin, even torn wounds. Face suffered quite a bit too. Gordon bled from one ear and mouth. His breath was short, uneven. Punctured lung. Bad.

Stranger took off his jacket, casually throwing it onto nearby chair, and rolled up his sleeves. He took some cotton from before prepared tray in surgical pliers, and dipped it in some clear, reeking liquid. 

-Mind it, it's going to sting - stranger said quietly and started to carefully clean open cuts and dirty wounds. He was slowly brushing each cut, neat methodical strokes, holding Gordon up by his shoulder. One by one. For each cut few drops of antiseptic and stroke of lukewarm fingers.  
Gordon's skin was burning under touches.

Stranger was especially meticulous with his face. He took off his glasses and put them on the table, then cupped his cheek with full palm of his hand, to get a better angle on the ear and gashed would on his neck. Slick, soft and prickly feel of antiseptic solution dripping down to his collarbones. 

Stranger lets go of his face and steps behind him and changed the cotton ball with antiseptic to a fresh one. Now Gordon can feel cold drips of it all over his back, along with pressure of stranger's hand. He feels goosebumps going all over him. Stranger smears antiseptic near the wound that Gordon assumes is a puncture in his lung which makes him gasp in sharp pain. 

Stranger whispers something in language Gordon can't understand, but it sounds soothing. Reassuring. 

It seems his mysterious employer has finished with cleaning up the wounds. He puts down the pliers and picks up some device Gordon has never seen before. It reminded him of dentist's drill. 

Stranger puts his palm near the lung puncture and he feels sudden sensation of something being pulled out of him, followed by flash of sharp pain and then searing heat. All of which made Gordon actually let out a hoarse shriek.

Stranger pats and strokes his back. It seems it's all over? Oh. He can breathe now. He inhales full lungs of air. It still hurts a bit. He has some fractured ribs. But all this oxygen is almost… Intoxicating. Gordon feels drunk. 

Stranger is far from done, though. 

He stitches up torn wounds with this tool in two quick jolts of pain and subsequent relief of cool wet cloth picking up smears of blood. Then he steps back in front of Gordon and yet again goes on his knees. Gordon gave up attempts to pretend he doesn't like this even a little bit. Hard to see from his perched position but he thinks he can notice slight smile on Stranger's lips, while he's patching up bullet wounds and fractured bones in his legs. 

Stranger spends a bit more than necessary down there giving attention to every scratch on his ankles, before standing up and picking up the tray with green, reeking to heavens goo in it. Judging by stranger’s spider-like fingers rubbing the goo in the particularly purple bruise on his chest, making Gordon’s heart skip a bit, it was the turn of billion of bruising patches on his skin. 

For what feels like and eternity stranger is going from bruise to bruise, each tingling crazy at the sensation of goo seeping in his skin, pushed inwards through by this man. He is probably really underslept and excited but he can feel his wounds healing by the minute, torn cellular nets regrowing, inward bleeding dissipating. 

Sick red pressure of inflammation was being released slowly, giving way to faint sparks of pleasure from skin to skin contact Gordon feels he haven’t had in ages. It feels great, in delirious state of his mind, feeling like light fog in the autumn morning covering the very lower layers of the ground, swirling around trees and passerby’s ankles. 

Stranger is finally done with all his bruises, and more than half empty tray of goo was discarded, in favor of box filled with band-aids and bandages. They were probably the only thing so far that smelled familiar. Along with them stranger opened small bottle with yer another awfully smelling solution, this time smell was really familiar. Gordon squinted to read the label. DMSO. Dimethyl sulfoxide? He knows that one. Gordon smiles, recalling patching himself up after particularly volatile days in his lab. After all, H.E.V. suit was never intended for combat, but for dangerous science experiments. He wonders if stranger will ever have use of his actual specialty. He certainly hopes so. Even though he has gotten used to being in combat and was good at it, he was better in the lab. 

The man in the suit pours some of the liquid from the bottle on the bandages and tapped Gordon’s forearms asking him to lift his arms just a bit. Gordon immediately did, folding his arms behind the head, and noted the expected feel of wet bandages being wrapped around him in quick but methodical motions. 

Stranger’s face was calm and collected now. Gordon can’t help but feel like his employer has already done something like this before. Which was an odd look for man in the suit, Gordon wouldn’t put him as someone with medical expertise. With humans, while not being one at that. He’s almost done with the bandages. Should he ask? He can, now that his lungs aren’t filled with liquid. 

He can, but that doesn’t mean he should. He can make his own answers, after all. Stranger is now completely done with the bandages, and steps away to rinse his hands in nearby sink. Gordon look at his back, movement of the muscles visible through bleached white shirt. Looks human. Isn’t. But took time to fix Gordon’s very human and fragile body. He can feel some strings in his soul being tightened to their max. 

Stranger is back now, almost finished drying his hands with some leftover bandages. He looks straight at Gordon’s eyes yet again. He doesn’t feel the need to avert his gaze, like he would with anyone else. Stranger’s face is painted with regret and something else. He can’t quite put it. 

He makes one step forward, being at arm’s reach now. He slowly reaches his hand towards Gordon’s face and freezes halfway. What happened? Something’s wrong? No, he can see the stranger is sort of unsure now? Oh. He wants permission again. Gordon could get used to this. He nods, and stranger cups his face with both his hands and looks at him very attentively. He looks lost in thought, slightly rubbing his thumbs at scientist’s jawline. Gordon can feel something coming on inside him. 

He puts his hands on stranger’s and slips off the table, almost painlessly on his legs. He notices how stranger is slightly shorter than him and finds it oddly cute. His hands are now on stranger’s shoulders. Stranger stands still, hands on Gordon’s face. 

Tightened string bursts under pressure. 

Gordon grips stranger’s tie and pulls on himself, finding other’s lukewarm lips. Stranger is oddly pliant, receptive. A bit stiffened? Like what’s going on doesn’t concern him. But that ‘doesn’t concern’ gives himself up with the goods, hands on Gordon’s face trembling and sliding to the neck. Is he? He is. Probably doesn’t know what to do with himself.  
Gordon goes a bit less desperate now, less aggressive. Slightly nibbling on barely warm lips, he runs his hand up stranger’s cheekbone, going to short “graying” hair. Putting the hand on stranger’s back, holding him, and he mirrors the action, hands still trembling. He can swear he just stole stranger’s first kiss, so he tries to do his best. 

Air in his newly repaired lungs is running out. Gordon makes one last stroke through stranger’s haircut ruining it completely, and leans back to take a look. 

He likes the sight. Raven-black hair with gray temples in complete disarray, and pale skin and lips lit up with slight red color. Green-blue eyes opened wide. It seems stranger still tries to pretend that what happening didn’t affect him as much as it actually did. Gordon feels a little sad about that but he probably has a reason. 

Well, he can look all he want but he doesn’t have to. He tugs stranger closer and locks him in a tight embrace, as tight as his relaxed bandaged hands can manage. He leans to stranger’s ear. His hair smells like dust on old computers. 

_-Thank you for the patch up. And…_ Gordon makes a pause.  
_...everything else._ \- He adds. He feels it’s gonna be easier for stranger this way, with his face hidden. Gordon has a hunch that his constant companion is a bit shy.

He feels the embrace returned. For once though, stranger doesn’t say anything. Just quiet, uneven breathing. They stand like this for some time. Sun, stuck in a loop illuminating them from a window as a ticking arrow of the clock. 

Stranger is first to stand back. 

-I am afraid this is as much time… -he inhales and closes his eyes in expression again  
… as i can make for you. For now. - he opens his eyes again. He turns to their shadows on the bleak blue wall and suddenly a portal opens, with spazzing emerald green lightnings at the rim. The way back? 

Gordon shivers. He equips his suit, piece by piece, clipping in power wires and locks, adjusting the armored plates. Stranger observes him standing quietly on the spot. As if he’s mesmerized? Who knows.

Stranger unfreezes from his stasis and makes few steps to the chair to pick up his jacket. He then reluctantly goes near the portal. 

-After you, Mr.Freeman. It’s _your_ way back. 

He says it and Gordon immediately knows that he won’t see the stranger on the other side. It would upset him but he knows he will see him again. He makes few steps to the portal. His wounds don’t hurt.

Gordon turns back.  
_-I see you around._

And then everything went green.

**Author's Note:**

> Work is inspired by rare G-man sighting in chapter "We Don't Go To Ravenholm".  
> Special Thanks to Cai who talked me into writing this and my friends who read it in WIP state!  
> Cheers!


End file.
